


Fic prompting game: Finding your peas of mind

by AlbieGeorge



Series: AlbieG's ill-advised fic prompting game [3]
Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Minor cameo from another muffin, Who actually technically got them together here, fic prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 11:19:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14187768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlbieGeorge/pseuds/AlbieGeorge
Summary: My third prompted fic.  The prompt, from dear bananas:- Titch/Woakes- "Who's the sexy new guy?"- A cricket ball to the gentleman's area- A bag of frozen peasWARNING: I am excessively fond of these two.  Straight up cheese warning.





	Fic prompting game: Finding your peas of mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bananas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananas/gifts).



> Had to go way back in time to write this, as Titch and Woakes met playing age group stuff in the Midlands. The tournament is fictional - indeed, they likely met earlier than this, even. But it's not implausible, nor is the appearance of a ginger kid from Yorkshire. Couldn't quite fit in the lanky kid from Watford to complete the set, but you get the picture.

Chris has been delighted but nervous to be selected to play for a Midlands XI against the other regions of the country.  It was an opportunity to boost his chances of making the squad for the Under 19s World Cup, after all.  But, as the youngest child in his family by a good distance, the prospect of a couple of weeks away from mum's home cooking and magically appearing clean washing was a bit daunting.

He supposed that all of the private school lads would feel right at home.  He assumed private school involved going to live in a castle and raiding the kitchens at night, although he might have been confusing it a bit with Harry Potter.  In any case, he had gained little experience of fending for himself at his suburban Birmingham comprehensive, and retreated often to the quiet of his room.

He'd been mildly alarmed, therefore, by being given a roommate on his third night away.  A very small lad by the name of James, who made up for what he lacked in height with an endearingly terrible hair cut and the ability to talk almost non-stop.  James went to private school, which he conceded was a former stately home when Chris asked if he went to school in a castle, and he had the confidence of approximately 15-20 Chrises.  Nonetheless, they'd got on like a house on fire, and Chris had found himself looking forward to their breakfasts together and late night chats much more than the cricket.

The first match day rolled around, and Chris was nervous once again.  He finished his new ball spell with pleasing figures, and the rush of relief found its way to his bladder.  Summoning a twelfth man to replace him for a minute in the field, Chris jogged into the clubhouse for a well-deserved pee.  As the sound of the hand-dryer faded, a new, more worrying sound replaced it.  The high-pitched whining sound of someone in pain.  Chris followed the noise into the dressing room, where he found James curled up in a ball with the twelfth man he'd sent on standing over him, looking helpless.

"Chris!" The twelfth man grabbed him by the shoulders in a bid to get past him, "Look after James till the physio gets here, will ya?"  He clocked Chris's confusion as he headed back towards the field of play.  "C'mon mate, you just took 2-24, let some other bugger have a go at catching the eye..." And with that, he was gone.

A resumption of the terrible whining alerted him to his stricken friend on the floor.  Chris knelt down beside James and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"James?  What's wrong?  What happened?"

James's face was red and his eyes were watering.

"Short leg... no-one to fetch my box... that ginger kid from Yorkshire... hit a drive... right at my bollocks, Chris... right... at... my bollocks."  James tilted his head back and resumed his whining.

Chris stifled a laugh and ran to the rickety fridge in the adjoining room to get ice packs.  He was greeted with a frozen pizza and a bag of garden peas.  Deciding the peas were marginally more suitable for the task at hand, Chris dashed back to James and handed them to him.  James gratefully shoved the entire pack of peas down his trousers and sighed in relief.

A few minutes later, James was feeling better, and had decided against murdering the ginger kid from Yorkshire, who actually seemed quite nice by all accounts.  He reached into his trousers to retrieve the melting peas and suddenly let out a startled gasp.

"What?" asked Chris, concern for his friend rising once again.

James just looked at him, wide-eyed, and then looked down to the floor.  Pouring from his right trouser leg was a veritable river of peas, the bag having sprung a leak from the indignity of being shoved down an 18 year old's cricket trousers.

And that was where it happened.  While trying to round up a spirited group of peas making their bid for freedom, silly from giggling, James pressed his lips to Chris's for the first time.  The suddenness of it stopped them both in their tracks, and when the physio bustled in seconds later, they instantly resumed pea gathering with rosy cheeks and shaky hands.  But that was where it started, and in future years, whenever there were peas on the menu, Chris's eyes would always find James's, and they would smile at the memory.


End file.
